Crimson Butterfly
by Aldira
Summary: Harry loved his brother more than anything in the world, so he'll make sure Kazuo was declared the winner of the Battle Royale. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Battle Royale don't belong to me.

Warnings: Slash (boyxboy), incest (sort of, kind of; they're not really brothers but in this story they are…)

Note: Takes place in the Battle Royale universe, so no magic.

**Crimson Butterfly**

October 28th, 1999; 8:30 a.m.

Everywhere was white, a startling white. There was no color in the space. No blues, reds. Just white. "Onii-chan!" Kazuo stopped walking. Who was calling him? "Onii-chan!" Who did that voice belong to? He turned, right, left, but couldn't find the owner. As Kazuo was about to give up, a small hand grabbed his own. He stared in shock at the beautiful emerald eyes. "Onii-chan, let's go home." A bright, breathtaking smile from that angelic face. Kazuo opened his mouth to reply, when his eyes snapped open. Staring at the blank ceiling of his room, he slowly sat up, bringing his hand up to his face. Why was he remembering something from almost ten years ago? His little brother was long gone now. He sighed, falling back onto his bed, which was really just two twin beds shoved together, making the decision to not go to school today. It wasn't like it made much of a difference. No one bothered to show up anymore.

He hated school. He hated life. What was the point? Kazuo narrowed his eyes when a fist pounded on his door, trying the handle only to find it locked. Drunken slurring ensued before an annoyed kick to the wood was delivered. The shadow from under the crack of the door slowly stumbled away and then silence. Kazuo hated his father. At one time he loved him, but now, he would gladly kill the bastard. He toyed with the pocket knife tucked under his pillow. What was stopping him, a voice whispered in his ears. Kazuo gripped the knife tightly. What was stopping him from just ending it all, to feel the warm blood dripping down his fingers, to see the life drain out of those permanently red-rimmed eyes, to be the one in power for once? His heart beat slightly faster at the thought, pupils dilating.

_Yes, let him suffer at my hands, show him what it's like. _

* * *

November 1st, 1999; 11:30 a.m.

Harry looked at the house. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed a lot more depressed than the last time he had seen it, the cheery paint chipped and faded, weeds sticking out of large cracks in the pavement. The once green grass were bent and dried, straining to live under the neglect. The flowers that he remembered lined the picket fences were nowhere to be seen, long dead. Of course, that was well over three years ago, and he had left on rather sad terms. When he was separated from his brother, from his twin, from Kazuo, Harry screamed, cried, begged, refused to budge from his place next to Kazuo, but his mother was adamant on leaving and wrenched him away. He loved Kazuo, more than he probably should. But he wasn't the only one. Kazuo loved him, too. The two shared hidden kisses, tucked away in their shared room at night with only the moon to witness them. They looked nothing alike, so that made the situation marginally better. That's why his mother never understood the deep affect the move had on Harry. He lost his friend, brother, and lover in one. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. And that was why he threw himself into homework and classes at the new school, thinking that if he just forgot all about Kazuo, then he could be normal. A normal boy that plays sports and has girlfriends instead of thinking about kissing his brother.

It was difficult, and the environment didn't help at all. At least with Kazuo, his brother warded off most of the bullies, and with two, they tended to avoid picking on them. They had each other. But now, he was alone. And his appearance was that of a foreigner, adding to their jibes along with being a new kid in a class filled with students that knew each other for years. Harry took after his mother, which wasn't a bad thing in itself, but children can be unnecessarily cruel in their ignorance. A half-breed, they called him. Some were more physical about the in-acceptance of him, Harry coming home with bruises more than once under his uniform. He always brought a jacket to school just in case for this reason, so that should his shirt rips open from particularly vicious encounters, he could hide the injuries from his mother.

But she died. And Harry was here, back at his old home. He shifted nervously before ringing the doorbell, anticipating the reunion. Harry heard the voice before he even saw the person it belonged to.

"We don't want what you're selling." A gruff, scraggly voice scraped its way to his ear, a yellowed eye glaring at him through the door cracked open. Harry jerked back at the sound, wondering for a second if he had the right house.

"This is the Kiriyama residence, right?" Harry asked hesitantly. A part of him hoped it wasn't, otherwise this behavior of his father's greatly changed for the worse.

"What do you want." Well, that proved this really was his father, and Harry couldn't stop the curl of disappointment in his stomach.

"Dad?" he called out softly, breath hitching, trying to peer into the door crack. There was silence before a loud slam. Harry stood there, staring in disbelief at the closed door, nursing his hurt. As he contemplated simply leaving his old home, the clicking of a latch on the other side had him pausing. The door swung open and Harry was met with a teary-eyed man, one who although he knew was his father, looked like a shadow of what he was years ago. Papery skin, bloodshot eyes, Harry just barely resisted the urge to cringe away when the man launched himself at him, breathing in the alcoholic stench.

"Harry! My son, my beautiful son!" his hands darted out, almost clawing his face had Harry not ducked away in time.

"Where's your mother?" the man wildly searched behind him, stepping around Harry, eyes darting to and fro.

"She's dead," Harry winced, looking down at his feet, hating how he had to break the news to his own father.

The light that had entered into those tired, weary eyes extinguished, leaving a blank look, and Harry startled at the abrupt change.

"Are you okay?" Harry softly asked, unsure of how exactly to comfort him. Time and distance had changed his father, and he wasn't sure if he knew the proper way to handle him.

"I'm fine," he wheezed out, stepping aside to let his son in.

"Get settled in," the man collapsed on the ground, waving aside Harry's concern. "I want to stay out here for a while."

Harry glanced once more at the still man staring off dazedly at the ground before walking into the house, dragging in his suitcase. It was significantly emptier than he had last seen it, his mother taking in a majority of the belongings. A whole lot messier, too. He spied dust bunnies gathering in the corners of rooms and along the edges of walls. Stopping in front of an old picture frame nailed to the wall, Harry smiled at the happy family, blinking back the tears. He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly before climbing up the stairs, following the familiar route to his room.

He lingered outside the room, biting his lip as he reached out, turning the knob slowly. Catching sight of the prone body on the conjoined bed, something he and his brother pushed together as they grew older to increase space, Harry tiptoed closer, leaning forward to see Kazuo's sleeping face. A surprised yelp left his lips when a hand flew out from under the covers, pulling him down and shoving him on his back. The movement was too quick for Harry to keep up and before he knew it, a stinging sharpness on his throat had him stiffening.

"Nii-chan," his voice cracked in the middle but Harry paid that no mind as he stared up at the cold eyes assessing him. Swallowing, the knife, for it had to be a knife, pressed down deeper and Harry shied away from the metal as far as he could, not moving much under Kazuo's unrelenting hold. The hard brown eyes narrowed down at him but he eventually withdrew the weapon, swinging his legs off of Harry and onto the floor, presenting his back to his brother.

"What are you doing here."

Harry sat up, gazing at the oddly captivating motion of the opening and closing of the pocket knife.

"Mom died," Harry whispered. Kazuo's hand didn't stop the action.

"Is that so?"

Harry made a confirming sound, wondering why the unbearable pain from before seemed to just fade away. He was numb, unfeeling. The world was nothing. He was fine now if Kazuo was here. A small ounce of guilt stirred within Harry for feeling, if for a brief moment, relief that his mother died, as long as he got to see Kazuo again. He squashed it down, ignoring everything but his brother. The soft clicking of the pocket knife lulled him to sleep, subconsciously curling onto his side of the bed, leaving just enough room for Kazuo but close enough for them to nestle next to each other. For a moment, Harry could pretend that everything was fine. His mother was alive, his dad was happy. They were that happy family in that picture, and everything was fine.

* * *

Because nothing's hotter than a psychopathic killer, right? But, no, really, I'll be meshing together the novel, film, and maybe the manga versions into this story. So, yeah, Lily died on Halloween. This won't be a long story, under ten chapters at the most. Just wanted to get this out of my system. First time writing something like this, so I hope you don't cringe away at my attempt at violence (and smut, but that'll come up much later) - Aldira~


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Battle Royale do not belong to me.

Warnings: Attempted rape, incest, slash, violence, domestic abuse

**Crimson Butterfly**

November 23, 1999; 5:45 p.m.: Labour Thanksgiving Day

Harry tensely stirred the pot, setting down the ladle carefully on a nearby plate. Checking on the rice, he sent a forced smile to his father who had been staring at him. Again. It was unnerving to say the least. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen his own son for a long time. It wasn't like Harry could just outright say that his staring made him uncomfortable, enduring it in silence.

Sighing softly, he leaned against the kitchen counter. What was taking Kazuo so long? He had left a little earlier to who knows where before Harry even started making dinner and he still wasn't home yet. Harry stiffened slightly when he heard his father shifting in his chair.

_Hurry up, Kazuo_, Harry thought, unsure of how long he can last this suffocating atmosphere.

"Should we just start without him?" Harry jumped at the sudden conjecture. His father stared at him intently by the table, arms crossed as he leaned back on the wooden chair.

"I'll wait for Kazuo," he replied, not budging from his spot. Was it just his imagination, or did those eyes narrow at him in warning?

The sound of the door unlocking had him melting in relief. He stepped closer to the kitchen entrance, smiling at the sight of his brother.

"Welcome back, Nii-chan," Harry greeted, receiving a nod in return.

"How was your trip?"

"Fine," was the quiet response as Kazuo sat down at the table, across from his father, not even greeting the man. He grabbed the chopsticks and the bowl of rice placed dutifully in front of him. Harry followed his lead, setting the fire on a low simmer before sitting down between his father and brother. Harry noticed Kazuo was being glared at. He quickly glanced at him only to see that he was resolutely ignoring the attention, sipping the soup purposefully. His grip on his chopsticks tightening, Harry bit his lip, aware of the rising tension in the room, staring at his own bowl of rice, not daring to look up.

* * *

November 23, 1999; 6:00 p.m.: Labour Thanksgiving Day

A hand loudly smacked the table, the silverware jumping slightly at the disruption.

"That's it? No explanation?" the man growled out, lips pulled back in an ugly snarl.

He didn't even flinch, used to the angry outbursts, but in the corner of his eye, Kazuo could see Harry flinch at the sudden noise.

"I don't see why you choose now to start acting like a father," just last week, Kazuo wouldn't have been able to say this. He wouldn't have even been sitting at a table with this man. Harry was here now though, and he wanted a family, so Kazuo, while not willing to reconcile with his father, made an effort to at least spend a few minutes in a room with him, silence-filled but it was the thought that counts. "You've been demoted from that position a long time ago."

The man lunged at him, pulling the collar of his shirt and dragging out of the kitchen. There was a loud gasp, echoing the sharp splintering of glass as the bowl fell from his hands and onto the floor. Once in the living room, a punch landed on his face, striking him down. He narrowly missed hitting his head against the corner of the coffee table in his descent. Back colliding with the ground, Kazuo grit his teeth as a kick to his ribs followed.

"Good-for-nothing trash! Always getting into fights, why can't you do something productive in your life?" the man continued his abuse. "Go to school and learn for once!"

Kazuo glared up at him menacingly, sending a chill down his spine as he was faced with pure hatred in his gaze. _Soon, soon… _

"Hey!" Kazuo shifted his sight to the left, seeing his brother standing by the kitchen entrance, brandishing a pocket knife threateningly. "Stop hurting him!"

The kicking paused before the man let out a laugh, staggering closer to Harry. Kazuo lifted himself up with his elbows, frowning at the situation, warily watching his every move.

"Harry, Harry, what can you do with that?" he stepped even closer, invading every sense of personal space. Leaning in, he wrenched the knife out of Harry's weak hold, tossing it onto the floor. Cornering him against the wall, he lowered his head, brushing his lips against the smooth skin of his son's neck. "Now be a good boy and listen to daddy, okay?"

* * *

November 23, 1999; 6:05 p.m.: Labour Thanksgiving Day

Harry froze in fear at the implication of those words before renewing his struggle when he felt rough hands grasp the lining of his pants. "Let go, let go!" his voice became a high screech as panic flooded his senses.

"You have your mother's eyes," was whispered in his ears. Hands gathered his wrists into a tight clasp, holding them above his head, pinning him against the wall.

Harry shut his eyes, tears gathering in them as he trembled violently.

"Hey," his chin was held painfully, jerking his head up. "Don't close your eyes."

His father's face stared down at him seriously, eyes horribly psychotic. A monster, a deranged monster. Harry hiccuped in fright, not daring to disobey. He flinched, whimpering softly when his belt was undone, thrown carelessly away. Tears ran freely down his face.

_Help._

"Kazuo," Harry begged before a harsh slap to the face silenced him with a cry.

"Don't ever say—," the man never got to finish his sentence.

Harry slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor. One second he pinned strongly with no escape and the next, there was nothing holding him up, holding him captive. He stared at the fallen body, the blood oozing out of the deep wound. Tearing his gaze from the horrific sight, Harry turned to his brother standing above the soon to be corpse, manically taking in the gory sight. Harry shivered. There was blood staining Kazuo's hands. The knife glinted evilly in the eerie evening light, matching the equally insane look in his brother's eyes.

* * *

Well, that escalated pretty fast. Reviews make me happy (hint, hint). - Aldira~


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Battle Royale don't belong to me.

Warnings: slash, incest

**Crimson Butterfly**

November 23, 1999; 6:10 p.m.: Labour Thanksgiving Day

Kazuo tore his eyes away from the bloody corpse of his father with difficulty. He closed his eyes, relishing the power coursing through his veins. So this was what it was like…

His wide grin was beginning to tire his face. Strange, he didn't remember smiling. He shivered at the pure ecstasy he was experiencing. Why hadn't he tried this sooner? In fact, Kazuo wouldn't mind killing again. His eyes glowed ominously. Yes, the sooner the better.

There was a shifting on the floor. He blinked at the reminder of his brother's presence. Harry looked up at him, back still pressed firmly against the wall, trying his best to distance himself from the prone body. His brother was beautiful, incredibly so. Those unique green eyes widened in fear, lips parted with every hitched breath, they only seemed to accent his features. He was exquisite, alive, utterly breathtaking as his heart raced with adrenaline. He couldn't be more beautiful in this moment.

A hand darted out, yanking Harry to his feet. Lips harshly connected, tongues meeting in a painful collide of teeth. The taste of blood soon became apparent but the passionate kiss didn't seem to end. Kazuo gripped Harry's jaw in a rough hold, leaving red trails and dark bruises. Harry's neck was craned back in an uncomfortable position, but he barely even noticed as Kazuo brutally explored every inch of his mouth. Kazuo had never been soft with his affection, preferring to be more direct and open with his desire, but this was completely different. It was almost animalistic the way he practically domineered himself over Harry, and all the poor boy could do was release a breathy moan as he was wholly ravaged by Kazuo. The wet, erotic sounds of the slick muscles sliding in and out filled the room, the heavy stench of blood hanging over them as a dreadful backdrop. Kazuo stared down at Harry whose face was flushed a soft pink. The unique emerald eyes were hidden from the world, closed as he lost himself in pleasure. Beautiful. Kazuo's eyes darkened in lust. The blood smeared across Harry's cheeks only served to fuel his desire. Growling in satisfaction, Kazuo pulled away, biting the swollen lip pouting enticingly at him. Harry whined softly when the action drew blood but gave no further sign of discomfort, hiding his face in Kazuo's neck.

"I love you," he heard him say, voice muffled slightly. Kazuo didn't reply, staring at the wall blankly.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked, pulling away from the embrace, sending a questioning look up at Kazuo who was silent for some time before he jumped into action.

Kazuo walked into the kitchen, taking a tall bottle from the refrigerator. Snapping the cap off, he strolled back into the room, pouring alcohol over his father's body. Once the bottle emptied itself, the teen dropped it onto the floor with a crash as it broke into tiny sharp shards. Reaching into his father's back pocket, picking out a cigarette, he lit it with a match, fire dancing lightly on the small stick. It shone brightly in the dark room, creating ominous shadows in dank corners. Harry stared as the small flame fell to the floor, into the puddle, seeming to get engulfed by the alcohol before springing back to life in a burst of fire. He watched, captivated as the it quickly spread over the drenched body, beginning to lick at the edges, catching onto the wooden floor and nearby carpet. Kazuo yanked Harry closer.

"He just had an accident while drinking and smoking. We weren't here," Kazuo stared into Harry's eyes, not pulling away until he received a nod.

He grabbed his brother's hand, dragging him out the back door. As the two crept outside, quietly jumping over the fence and into the park, Harry glanced once more at the house. Night had come early, as was the norm of the winter schedule, hiding the tendrils of smoke that will no doubt litter the sky soon. The characteristic black drawn curtains of the Kiriyama household will hopefully obscure the bright flames within.

* * *

November 23, 1999; 6:30 p.m.: Labour Thanksgiving Day

Harry followed obediently behind Kazuo as he led him toward the local arcade. He was surprised, usually his brother tended to avoid that place, deeming it immature or below him. Whenever Harry wanted to come here, Kazuo would just drop him off and leave, coming back an hour or two later to pick him up. Sometimes he would stay with him though but always with an irritated set to his shoulders. For some strange reason, Kazuo didn't seem to like one of the employees there. Harry couldn't see why. He was nice enough, even giving Harry some free points to his game card once in a while. Maybe it was because he was around their age. Kazuo never got on well with teens. Or, anyone in general.

"We'll stay here until someone notices," Kazuo said, holding the door open for Harry.

"Okay," Harry replied, waving at the same college student behind the counters, receiving a smile in return. Kazuo shot a glare at the employee before dragging Harry off to the secluded back, hidden behind rows of game machines. Taking out the card, he waved it teasingly to his brother who was leaning against one of the only blank spaces on the wall. Harry gave an exasperated grin when all he got was a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look. Beckoning his brother, sending a pout until Kazuo finally relented, Harry cheered when he joined him. Swiping his card across the slot, Harry picked up the plastic gun, sensing Kazuo doing the same beside him. The two held the relaxed position, waiting for the game to start, and when it did, they quickly battled against their enemies together. They worked well together, if Harry did say so himself, but he wasn't too surprised when Kazuo turned out to be the better player. He excelled in all things physical in their outside lives so it made sense that it transferred virtually, at least to Harry that made sense.

It was a great way to forget, to vent out all his emotions and shove the rest to the back of his head. Harry almost forgot about what just transpired not only a half hour ago. Almost. Almost.

* * *

Did I make Kazuo creepy enough? Turned on by blood. I want him to be overprotective of Harry while remaining completely stoic and uncaring to the rest of the population. I think I did a decent job, could be better. Review please! - Aldira~


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